


ice breaker

by orphan_account



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, F/M, fite me, it's butch and bubbles who are bi, this was not supposed to be more than one chapter but things never go as planned, yeah man a fic based on a prompt here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-08-31 14:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8582062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: prompt - "It's three in the morning, you're drunk, half-naked, and I'm on the verge of calling the cops."Boomer accidentally breaks into Bubbles' apartment after a night out drinking.





	1. Chapter 1

Have you ever had a moment where everything goes blank? Where your eyes go completely out of focus and you're left staring at… nothing. At nothing. Everything you think you see is blurred and fizzed and blended together like mixed cake batter. Except, it doesn't really taste delicious. And it feels like crap. And you're trying to look and squinting your eyes so hard that your head pumps with pain, but you still can't see a damn thing.

He should wear his glasses more often.

The last thing he remembers before passing out from his headache is a girl, holding up a pepper spray with trembling hands and crazed eyes looking at him as though he was a mad murderer.

In some ways, there are a lot of things he killed tonight.

His liver. His head. _The mood_.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up looking through pale blue curtains just above a warm yellow couch. The curtains were pushed aside to allow some moonlight in and were tucked behind the couch to keep them in place. Very neat. His droopy eyes look to walls, which he notices are a slightly paler color of blue, dotted with white spots. He chuckles goofily. They look like tiny bubbles. Or even stars in the daylight. How stupid.

He hears little pats on the ground somewhere he doesn't care to look. A lamp on either side of the couch is lit. He grunts, raising to his elbows, which he feels are very sensitive and sore.

He groans loudly when he hears a fridge door close. He fists his hair, hoping that the pressure of pulling it will soothe the headache. Instead, it worsens. "Butch… Butch, man, what did I fucking tell you about barging into my apartment without asking me…" He feels his face warming up and his vision goes blurry again. He cries out softly, putting his face in his hands as his tears wet his palms. "What did I tell you…" he whimpers.

He hears the footsteps coming closer, sounding lighter than he remembered. When he looks up, he doesn't see his tall, bulky brother, but a short blonde girl, staring at him like he's insane. "Are you… okay?" she asks him uncertainly.

"I… What are you doing here, Bubbles? I thought you muh… moooved out of Townsville a loooong time ago."

She sighs. He's still slurring and it looks like he hasn't gotten sleep in weeks. "Boomer, dear, I live in the apartment right below yours. And I _have_ been for about two years now."

"No fucking kidding!" he says, but he actually sounds surprised. "Are you for real?"

"As real as it can get," she mutters, eyeing the way the covers that she'd neatly placed on him were now messy and disheveled and drooping onto the carpeted floor.

It's then that he notices that she has something in her hand. "What's that thingy?" He points at it.

She holds it up for him to see. It's just some square thing wrapped in brown paper towels. He frowns, disappointed. He'd hoped for something a bit more exciting.

"It's an ice pack," she says. He just stares at her with this little glower and she almost finds it funny.

She walks over to him and sits on the edge of the couch, just beside his waist. He squirms away from her and mutters, "Ew" and for a second she can see him as he first was; a five year old kid who just wanted to blow up stuff and destroy a couple of girls.

But times have changed.

And now he's a twenty one year old kid who still wants to blow up stuff and destroy a couple of girls in _different_ ways.

Bubbles pushes the thought aside and leans forward to press the ice pack onto his forehead as he lies on a throw pillow. Before it even makes contact with his skin, he scrunches his nose up like he's already in pain, and shimmies himself further into the couch creases like it's some type of opposite magnetic force that's pushing him away. He whips his head to the side, saying a defiant, "No!"

"Boomer," she says his name firmly, and revels in the way he flinches. He turns his head back and closes his eyes, waiting for the impact.

When she finally lands the ice pack on his head, he shivers, in a way that's far too adorable for her to see. He sighs, finally relaxed.

"Hey," he slurs, as she holds the ice pack while he keeps moving, "What am I doing… Down here, I mean."

"It's three in the morning, you're drunk, half-naked, and I'm on the verge of calling the cops."

At this, he opens his eyes. She's looking back at him, expressionless.

"You could be charged for breaking and entering," she adds.

"Wha…" And then he looks at her front door, just a little ways from the living room entrance. The door's hinges are broken and bent, and there's a fist-sized hole through the middle. "Woah." He stares at her in wonderment. "I did that?"

She lightly slaps his bare shoulder. "Don't be proud of it! I have a new peephole thanks to you. And this time, strangers can _look in_!"

He laughs, his voice deep and slow. He's so, so tired, so tired he could take a nap in the middle of Rockefeller Center during Christmas Eve. He did that once. His ears were ringing the moment he was woken up by a police officer on a tall brown horse.

He remembers Bubbles was there, too. It was a school trip. Yeah. He strayed from the group and sat on the thick ledge of a flowerbed, among hundreds of bustling people moving from place to place, talking and laughing. He hadn't gotten any sleep that night after Butch told him some scary story about a dead pirate who haunted the souls of innocent kids ("He finds where you sleep, where you live, and then, while you're sleeping, he cuts out your heart with his ghostly sword!" Butch said to him. He'd always been full of shit.)

But Boomer thought of this story as he sat on that ledge. He thought of having his heart cut out. It would hurt, that's for sure. He fell asleep nonetheless, but a police officer woke him up not much later. Bubbles came rushing over, panting, and he could hear the click-clack of her boots on the cement. She stood there, red in the face, her curly pigtails dotted with snowflakes, and said a quick hello to the officer.

"Boomer!" she said, "We were all looking for you." She reached over and grabbed his wrist, pulling him off the ledge and onto the floor. "Come on, they're waiting."

And as she pulled him through the crowd, the only thing he could hear was the sharp sound of her boots. He wondered if the pirate had already cut his heart out. And he realized that Butch never told him where the pirate put the hearts, or maybe, who he gave them to.

He doesn't realize he's spacing out until Bubbles' warmth is taken from him when she stands up and leaves the ice pack in his hands. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"I'm tired, Boomer," she says, rubbing her forehead, and he's so stricken by this moment. She looks so mature here, so serious, like an _adult_. She has a hand on her hip like she needs it for support and she's tapping her foot like a mother, and he feels desperate all of a sudden.

"Hey, wait," he says hurriedly, accidentally throwing some covers off as he sits straight and faces her. The ice pack thuds onto the floor. Bubbles' hands drop and her mouth forms a thin line as she glares at him. It takes a moment for him to see through the dim light of the room that her cheeks are as red as a strawberry lollipop. He feels cold the next moment, and that's when he remembers that the only thing he's wearing is his jeans. But he doesn't even care.

"Can you stay with me a bit!" he asks, but it comes off as though he's stating a fact. His balance wavers somewhat and he plants his hands on either side of him to keep himself up, facing her.

She looks to the side like she doesn't know what to say - maybe she really doesn't - but she scowls, probably at herself, and says, "Yeah, fine. I'll stay until you fall asleep, if it makes you feel better."

Before he can stop himself, he giggles, feeling his stomach _woosh_ like the waves of the ocean. She eyes him weirdly, but smiles, and kneels on the floor in front of him.

"I wanted to ask, anyway, even though you're still certifiably drunk-"

"What? I'm fucking sober, woman!"

She ignores his claim, which was proved false considering the way he slapped a hand over his mouth because he just spat out a curse, and continues, "How did you get drunk tonight?"

He goes silent. For a second, she believes that maybe she asks something a little too personal, but he snorts a laugh and leans back into the couch. The transparent curtains wisp again his messy hair, which she noticed was hanging over his eyes. She wants to see his eyes, see what emotion they conveyed. She'd always been able to do that.

"I was, uh," he says quietly, like he doesn't want to be too loud, "I was out with my… my brothers. We had a couple of drinks and everything was fun and stuff. I even, I even made Brick smile, ha."

Bubbles smiles at this, and at how his face shines when he says it. She leans forward a little, waiting for him to keep going.

"And I keep drinking and looking at them, and it feels nice. Really nice. I almost felt like a different person. Haha!" Despite his cheery laugh, she can see tears leaking down his face and trailing down his neck. She is momentarily dumbstruck. "A different person," he says again, "One that could actually make them happy." He starts laughing again, but his laugh is so strangely genuine.

She gets up and sits next to him, but he doesn't move an inch. "You think you don't make them happy?"

He doesn't answer the question, and instead looks forward, looks at the hole he punched through the door and the hinges he broke. "I did that," he says dully.

She is confused for a moment, but she shakes her head and then asks, "How did you get here if you were so drunk?"

He turned to look at her. She was much clearer to him now, sitting there in front of the window in the moonlight. Her was still so curly, and she still had them in pigtails. It was the only thing that didn't make her look like an adult. He could almost imagine tiny little snowflakes stuck in her curls.

She wrinkles her brows and blushes when she realizes he's just staring at her. "I'm serious," she says, and it drives a surge of irritation through him, "You were so drunk when you broke in; there's no way you could've just-"

"I knew exactly what I was doing," he protested, but in all honestly, he doesn't really know if he did. He remembers having a brief, fleeting thought of her when he was walking through the doors of the lobby.

_Oh, yeah. She lives here, too._

But he remembers going through _his_ door, and trudging toward _his_ couch, and-

_Wait… Her door is the only one with sunflowers drawn in the front._

Oh. He'd completely forgotten…

_Might as well wish her a goodnight or something. She wouldn't mind if I stopped by, would she?_

And then he punched a hole through the sunflower.

"I knew exactly what I was doing," he repeats. He suddenly feels a wave of nausea and clutches his stomach, taking a deep breath.

She notices this, and then points to a bucket that he hadn't even noticed before. "If you need to vomit, do it in there."

"No, no. I don't need to… I'm fine."

She looks at him, mildly concerned. "It's there if you need it anytime soon." She inhales sharply and sighs again, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. He watches her. "I have to go to school tomorrow…"

He'd forgotten that she was still in college. "Sorry," he splutters, trying to work out what to say next.

She brings her head back up and lays a hand on his shoulder. His skin starts to tingle and the nausea is back again, but it feels different this time.

"You should sleep," she tells him. She puts her hands on his chest without thinking, intending to push him back, but she freezes there. It strikes her then how tall he is; even sitting beside each other, she has to look up at him a bit. She finds this funny for some reason, and she can't stop herself from releasing a squeaky laugh.

It surprises him, and he laughs with her, albeit awkwardly. He lays down and he finds that he's been exhausted this whole time when the back of his head hits the soft throw pillow. Bubbles stands up so that he can stretch his legs. He yanks the covers over himself and goes into a fetal position, and she feels compelled to laugh again.

She's reminded again just how _cute_ he is when she notices how his hair is now pushed away and she can see his whole face. Well. Not whole. His shoulders are hunched and he's covering his mouth with the sheets, eyes half-lidded and staring again at the door past Bubbles.

She takes a moment to reflect; she may not exactly be close friends with him, even after all this time, but their like-hate relationship is something that she realizes she wouldn't really want to lose. And then a thought comes to her.

_He's stupid-drunk right now._

She giggles and covers her mouth, blushing like she just told herself a terrible secret.

"Hey, Boomer," she says, and he drags his eyes to her. She grinning ear to ear. "I've got a secret."

Biting back a yawn, he drones, "What is it?"

She kneels toward him, cupping one side of her mouth even though there are no other people around to hear. She whispers, "I like you."

It seems as though time stops then. The wind quits its howling and the curtains relax, and all she can hear are his soft breaths. He's asleep.

But she still finds it funny. She covers her mouth so that she won't wake him, gasping and snickering into it. She stands up, looming over his sleeping body, and for a moment she feels like a giant.

She takes a step back, thinking of tomorrow, and then she quietly bounces to her room just past the kitchen.

As he hears her bedroom door click shut, Boomer smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> butch will finally make his grand entrance. and also there's like 1 minute of brick.

He doesn't usually wake up to a glare of sunshine. In his apartment, the blinds are up and the curtains are thick, so that even the tiniest sliver of sunlight won't make it out. The air is cool and thick, and there is an undertone of gray everywhere you look.

But here the air is warm and dry, and he feels the sunlight burning his forehead and heating up his blanket. It's almost pleasant; he usually wakes up with icy toes and goosebumps on his arms and legs.

He breathes in and out, slowly and deeply, soaking in the warmth. He then sits up straight and realizes that his former headache has left him a sense of stiffy soreness. He swallows; his mouth was overflowing with saliva. He grimaces when he finds that the back of his throat was sore and it was painful to gulp. He puts his head in his hands, rubbing circles in his eyebrows.

He hears the sound of shoes tapping on the floor, and he is immediately reminded of Bubbles. He looks toward the front door, where, through the hole, he sees someone go up to the knob and then turn it. Bubbles walks through, dropping her schoolbag onto the floor.

She's dressed in a sweater and long boots, and he remembers that it's been stormy for the past couple of days. She shakes the water off her boots and hangs her umbrella onto a hook near the entrance.

"You're awake," she says, heading past him and toward the kitchen.

"What time is it?" he asks, his voice raspy and gravelly. He doesn't remember having his phone with him.

"It's about eleven thirty right now."

He watches the archway to the kitchen. "Why did you let me sleep here?"

"I couldn't haul you into the elevator in the middle of the night–that would've been weird." He hears her slam the fridge shut, and she comes back with a cup of yogurt in hand and a partially full mouth.

His stomach grumbles, and he looks at her expectantly.

There's a moment of silence before she fully comprehends.

Bubbles sighs. "Would you like to go eat some breakfast?"

 

* * *

 

 

Boomer sits on his own couch now, face as red as a freshly shined apple. He couldn't explain to his fellow inhabitants why he was coming out of Bubbles' apartment covered in bed sheets. Or how it had ended up that way. So instead, he just drifted past their looks of confusion and suspicion. He cringes, remembering how a couple of pretty girls giggled at him in the elevator.

His phone rings beside him, and he picks it up without haste. "Hi. You've ruined my social life."

Bubbles laughs on the other end. " _Oh, I'm sorry, but technically I didn't make you break into my apartment, sooo_ –"

"Whatever! Whatever! It happened, it's over!"

" _You sound flushed_."

"I am not anything." He looks around, and settles his eyes on his front door. "Where are you, anyway? Why are you calling me?"

" _Well, I just wanted to make sure you were fully clothed before I came upstairs_."

"Hilarious."

" _Ha! I know. Anyway, the cafe's breakfast menu will be available for the next thirty minutes, unless you're alright with getting lunch instead_."

"I'm alright with whatever."

" _Beautiful. I'll just meet you there then._ "

The door bursts open at that moment and in walks Butch, sober and not at all seeming as though he was in a car crash the previous night. He saunters in (as if the fucker lives here) and he shivers, rubbing his arms. "Cold as a motherfucker in here, man."

Boomer sighed through his nose, throwing his head back. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. They shut off the heat, like, last week. I'd think you would know since you practically live here. Which you don't, by the way."

Butch puts his hands up in defense. "Hey now, we're brothers. What's yours is mine. Su casa es mi casa."

" _Is that Butch?_ " Boomer had almost forgotten that Bubbles was on the line. He lifts his head up.

Butch makes a face and points at Boomer's phone. "Is that Bubbles?"

"Yes, it is, now _get out_ –"

"I haven't even eaten yet," Butch mutters, making a beeline to the kitchen.

"Butch. _Butch_! What did I fucking tell you about barging into my apartment without asking me!"

On the other end, Bubbles' smile falters a bit. " _I'll see you later._ _Bye._ " She doesn't wait for him to reply and ends the call there. He stares at his phone screen.

"Wow." Boomer looks at the entrance of the kitchen, where Butch is leaning against the wall, chowing down on a bag of chips. "Cussing so heavily at your own family? What a turn off. I know I wouldn't date a guy with that kind of attitude."

"She wasn't even angry."

"Jeez, no wonder she ended the call _and_ your date in one go." Butch points at Boomer with a bitten chip. "You're an ass."

"I'm not–She–It's not a date. She didn't end it. And only one of us is an ass and it's not me."

"Wow. That really hurts. You know, it, like, truly aches–A little besides the point, but now may be a good time to tell you that I used _some_ of your piggy bank money to repair the headlight to the car. Or all of it. Oops."

" _What_?"

"Well, hey, you called me an ass!"

"I called you an ass because _you are one_!"

 

* * *

 

 

With the menu up above the counter, Boomer tries to look for something that wouldn't kickstart his nausea. Something without too much flavor, something not too thick.

The cafe was moderately busy. A few people were on line to order, twiddling their thumbs and shuffling their feet. Much like Boomer, who positively could not stand still. He and Bubbles only sat at their table for now.

"Did I throw up last night?" he asks without thinking.

Bubbles doesn't seem to mind the question, doesn't even bat an eyelash. She's smiling at something on her phone, her cheeks all pink, and he wonders for a second if she's talking to someone. "No," she says, finally looking up at him. "I got up at one point in the middle of the night and I heard you heaving, but you never vomited."

A twinge of embarrassment crawls up his spine. He groans lightly, leaning forward on his elbows. "I heaved. Wow."

"Hey, it's okay. We all have," she exhales, smiling, before outright laughing, "we all have our bad days." The sunlight gleams through the glass window behind her and gives her hair a wispy and light quality.

He can't really be angry listening to her giggle like this, so he just decides to fumble with some sugar packets to distract himself.

Twenty minutes later, Boomer's stuffing down some strips of bacon and taking a piece out of his eggs–sunny side up, of course. Bubbles pauses for a moment to watch him, considering telling him that there's a bit of yolk running down his chin, but continues eating.

Bubbles thinks to herself quietly. She wants to bring up some things from the night before, but what would cross the line between curious and nosy? If he wanted to tell her, he would tell her, wouldn't he? Well, then again, you've got to show initiative to reach your goals. But, by the same token, she should play it safe and mind her own business–

"You were sad last night." She was talking before she could stop herself. Inside her head, she incessantly screeches. "You started crying."

He relaxes somewhat. Maybe the food had helped him calm down. His cheeks are still full of chewed up bacon and french toast, so she waits for him to finish that up before he can speak. "I was," he confirms. "I was pretty sad."

"Why?" she presses. She knows why. She wants him to explain himself sober.

"Um," he says, thinking back. He picks up a napkin to sloppily wipe away the dried up yolk on his chin. "Well, long story short, I was feeling emotional and existential and I was about to get laid, too, but those things don't usually turn out so great––"

"Yeah," she stopped him there, her lip curled. She shouldn't have asked. "Yeah, I get the gist now."

He keeps going, though, as if he knows that she secretly wants him to continue. "I was sad about my brothers. Actually, just Brick. Butch can jump into a gutter for all I care."

She laughs in spite of herself. "You know, if you hate Butch that much, why do you let him keep the spare key to your apartment?"

Boomer's smile is small, but it drops from his face. He blushes a little, frowns, and takes another bite out of his french toast. "He lives on the other side of town, you know," he says. "A really beat up apartment, worse than mine. But it's all he can afford."

"I don't know why he doesn't just move in with Buttercup," Bubbles remarks. The two had been dating for a while, and with Butch's living conditions, she was sure he'd jump at the chance to move.

"He's an independent guy," Boomer says. "If he were to move, it wouldn't be because he had no other choice. It would be because _he_ wanted to move."

"You sure do know him well," she says, leaning her cheek into her palm.

"He doesn't come around often," he says a bit quietly. His definition of 'often' was everyday. "He usually comes to see Buttercup, or Brick, or just to fuck around. Stuff like that."

Bubbles believed she got her answer right then. That spare key was an excuse for Boomer to see Butch on a regular basis. As much as Boomer stressed that Butch pissed him off like no one else, it was easy to tell how much he missed him.

Boomer drinks from his orange juice and then sighs with satisfaction. He sets his eyes on Bubbles, determined to change the subject.

"So the girl," Bubbles says casually, before he can get out a word. "Do I know her?"

He stays in place, confused. "The girl?" Until it finally clicks. "Oh! The girl!"

Bubbles mixes her latte around with a straw, nonchalant and unperturbed. She nods at him as a sign to go on.

"Brown hair. Tall."

"Her name, Boomer."

"I don't really…"

Bubbles grasps the situation just then. "Oh, so it was a one night stand kind of thing."

Boomer shakes his head, then he stops for a moment to consider. "Well, yeah, I guess it was. I knew her before yesterday, though."

He wants to ask her if she's jealous, maybe see her burn up and sputter that she's not when he'd know, he'd _know_ that she was. But he doesn't. He ponders the scenario, but feels discomfort at the awkwardness that would follow it. It would be nice, though, to know that she was jealous. He can't really decipher much from the poker face she's got on.

Without warning, he thinks back to when she said she liked him.

A burst of heat flows up his neck, but he manages to push it down. He makes eye contact with her, and he takes in her neutral expression and the curve of her eyelashes and her sun-kissed skin. Something about it had made him lean in just a smidge closer, like the image of her was too blurry for him to soak in and he needed to catch every detail.

And then her face breaks out into a small grin. She asks him, "Now which one of us is going to pay the bill for the food?"

 

* * *

 

 

Outside the cafe, Boomer finds Butch parked in a spot. The headlight was most definitely still busted, alright. The cracks left were spiraled like veins and following it on the side of the car was a generous dent the size of a beach ball.

Although he had seen this happen the night before, all Boomer could feel was confusion, because–

"Jackass! Didn't you say you were going to repair the headlight?" He'd wasted no time coming up to the driver's side, where Butch casually rolls down the window. Boomer notices someone in the front passenger's seat and is met with their older brother, sporting a dark hoodie and raising a coffee cup up to greet him.

"Sup," Brick says, ignoring the way Boomer's eyebrows twisted.

"Since when do you drink coffee?"

Brick looks at him coldly with dark rimmed eyes and takes an obnoxiously loud sip.

Boomer looks back at Butch, who looked a bit too relaxed in his sunglasses and plain tee. "The headlights?"

"Right, you see," Butch starts, and Boomer senses an onslaught of bullshit about to spew out of his mouth, but before that happens, Bubbles quickly jumps in.

"I'm just gonna head home now," she says, and smiles at his brothers. "See you guys."

Brick's eyebrows raise slightly and Butch says a brief "Later, Blondie" as she skips away.

"What were you doin' out with her?" Brick asks, taking another sip of his coffee.

Butch laughs. "Oh, dude, I forgot to tell you what happened to him. You'll never believe it–"

" _Dude_ ," Boomer glares at Butch, heat rising in his cheeks. He now regrets how he relayed the events of the previous night to Butch that morning.

 

* * *

 

 

"–so when Brick asked me to pick him up I just thought, why not pick the both of them up and then fix the headlight later? Seriously, the both of you have got to get your own cars."

"You're horribly inconsistent," Brick says, counting the street poles they pass through the window.

Boomer considers asking why Brick wanted to be picked up, before remembering that Blossom lived on the same side of town as he and Bubbles did, the side without many train stops. There were countless bus stops, but even so, Brick was never a fan of spaceless crowds.

So Boomer settles on asking Butch if he'll pass by to see Buttercup.

"That crazy bitch? Of course," Butch says, smiling as he stops at a red light. "If I'm lucky she might even let me stay the night for a little _hm-hm_ –"

Brick splashes some scalding hot coffee on Butch's face with his fingers to shut him up, which manages to do the trick.

As they arrive in front of Blossom's apartment building, Brick slides out of the car and Boomer moves out to take his seat. He barely misses the thumbs up Butch sends their older brother as he heads into the lobby.

"Doesn't he usually stay at home after a night of drinking?"

Butch shrugs. "He's got some stuff to settle."

"With Blossom? But I thought they were doing okay."

"No, it's not bad stuff, they just–You know what. This conversation is over, young man. Off to your apartment we go."

"But–"

Boomer feels that Butch is being extra petty when he turns on the radio to cut him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anyone even read this


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boomer is shit at making pancakes

Boomer feels like he's going to die when he finds himself in the kitchen of his apartment the next morning, refrigerator and cabinets void of any edible food.

_Butch_ , he inwardly growls. The fucker acts like his home is a minimart.

The flickering light of the fridge torments him, almost tauntingly. The floor is also cold to the touch, and his feet and fingers have already iced up as a result. He needs to pay the heat bill already. And go shopping. Egh.

He feels an overwhelming hunger, realizing that the mini-meal at the café was not nearly enough to fill him up. He thinks back to the night he got drunk, unable to remember if he drank without eating.

Taking a gander through his poor excuse of a fridge, he finds a carton of eggs, a stick of butter, and half-finished maple syrup. He finds nothing compatible in his cabinets and he comes to the strangest conclusion as he grabs a measuring cup from the cupboard.

Minutes later, Bubbles is trying to hold back her laughter as she processes the sight before her: Boomer, at her doorstep, holding a measuring cup.

She waits for him to speak up, but he seems more interested in glaring daggers at his feet. "Um…?"

"I need," he starts off, a little loudly, before calmly continuing, "a cup… of flour."

Bubbles nods apprehensively. "That's new, but okay." She takes a brief moment to think and then crosses her arms. "Can I safely ask what you need the flour for?"

Boomer grimaces. He'd probably hoped she wouldn't question him. "I want to… make pancakes."

Bubbles allows herself a quick pause, studying his subtle movements. "You took home a whole bag of leftovers yesterday."

"Well, yeah, I did, but you know," he makes a strange gesture toward his body, "I'm a growing young man and I-I need nutrients and protein and cells and stuff to grow."

"So Butch ate it all last night."

"… Yes."

Bubbles sighs, eyeing him. "You know how to make pancakes?"

"I vaguely remember making pancakes for breakfast in high school a couple of times." In actuality, he remembers Butch frying up perfectly rich and fluffy pancakes with just the right amount of syrup and this sweet, buttery taste that would hit him like a soft punch. Butch was always the best cook.

_I don't know why he keeps hounding my food if he can just make himself a four-course fucking meal_ , Boomer thinks bitterly.

"So you know how to make them, then. Alright," she smiles, "How much flour do you need?"

He freezes. _Shit_.

In hindsight, he should've realized not knowing any measurements would have given him away.

 

* * *

 

 

"If you needed me to cook you pancakes, you could've just asked."

"Shut up, Butch."

Bubbles smiles at the two brothers, standing side by side in front of the counter as Butch mixes the contents of the bowl. The latter wore a pink and white checkered apron, courtesy of Bubbles. His arm is skillfully whisking, and his eyes seem focused. A rare moment.

She wishes Buttercup was here to see this.

Her phone rings beside her. When she checks it, she's surprised to see Buttercup's name on the caller ID. Speak of the devil.

" _Hey. I got some fucking gossip_ ," is the first thing Buttercup says when Bubbles picks up the call.

Bubbles squints. "I thought you weren't into gossiping."

" _Ah-ah! Not the point._ "

Bubbles sneaks a glance at the boys, sees how Butch is teaching Boomer how to mix properly. He makes a wrist motion that Boomer tries to copy as he mixes, but the blond ends up flinging some of the batter onto the counter, hissing a " _shit!_ " under his breath as Butch snorts.

"Tell me, then. What's going on?" Bubbles asks into her receiver.

" _Brick's moving in with Blossom._ "

Bubbles' brain short circuits for a minute. The only feeling she can muster up enough to speak is surprise. "Hold on – Brick? Really? Oh my gosh." Excitement. "Oh my gosh!" Surprise again. "Oh my gosh!?"

"Oh my gosh!" Butch mocks. "What the hell are we oh-my-goshing at, again?"

"Yeah," Boomer says, slowing down from wiping away the batter he'd spilled. "What's with the oh-my-goshes?"

Bubbles turns to Butch. "You knew that Brick was moving in with Blossom?"

"Knew it? I fuckin' suggested it!"

"What?" Boomer gapes, staring at him. "He's moving in with her? Like, in her apartment? In this neighborhood?"

"In this vicinity, in her building – How much more specific do you want to get?" Butch replies, tightening the bow at the front of his apron. When he sees Boomer pouting as he waits for a real answer, Butch sighs and gives it to him. "Yes. He's moving into her apartment."

Boomer feels light in his chest, about to respond with excitement, but he's gripping the whisk too sloppily and it slips out of his hand and clanks to the floor. He lurches down to pick it up and wipe away the splatter it created. Something inside Bubbles ignites at the sight, if only minuscule, and she can't help but feel happy for him. A question begs at her now that she thinks back on the news.

"How did you know about this?" Bubbles asks her sister, leaning on the edge of the island.

" _Well, I only live two blocks away from her and we see each other on the bus every other day, so…"_

At this point, Butch is on the other side of the phone, trying to listen in on what she's saying. "Put her on speaker," he whispers.

"No," she whispers back, "We're not going to be talking for long anyway."

" _I can hear the both of you._ "

Bubbles sighs, putting a hand to her forehead.

Boomer suddenly jumps back into the conversation, asking his brother, "Why didn't either of you tell me?"

"It only just happened today."

"That's not what I meant," Boomer says, "Why didn't you tell me he was thinking of moving here?"

Butch looks off to the side. "I was going to tell you, the other night actually, but then we got _majorly_ fucked up–"

" _Fucked up? What is he talking about?_ " Buttercup is heard asking from Bubbles' phone.

"He crashed his car," Bubbles says, only noticing the wild gesture Butch makes after it slips from her mouth.

" _Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell happened?_ "

Butch is slumped over in defeat, hands laced behind his head. Truly a sight to see.

Boomer's snorting next to him, saying, "I can't believe you haven't told her yet, you ass."

"That's a conversation for another day, okay, bye," Bubbles says quickly into her phone.

" _Wait–_ "

Bubbles hangs up on her with a wary thumb. She glares at Butch. "Seriously, the both of you need to drink more responsibly!"

"It was a celebratory outing! We had to get as fucked up as possible if we wanted to have real fun."

Bubbles stares at him, lost for words.

"What exactly did we celebrate?" Boomer asks as he cleans his dirtied rag.

Butch turns to his brother, mouth agape. "You absolute shitface. How the hell does somebody forget their own birthday?"

Realization seems to hit Boomer and he snaps his fingers. "Oh, _shit_! What the hell."

"Oh," Bubbles says, and then she gives him a bright smile and tells him, "Happy belated birthday."

"You forgot our birthday," Butch looks at her with mock disappointment in his eyes, "I'm wounded."

"At least we're all the same age now!" Bubbles claps her hands together. "I was getting tired of being older than you guys."

"By, like, half a year," Butch reminds her, "It ain't that much."

"Whatever," Bubbles waves him off and runs a hand through one of her pigtails. "You guys are finally twenty two. You should celebrate in a non-alcoholic way." Her eyes catch a mischievous glint. "I should put the song on–"

"Boomer already blasted Taylor Swift in the car on our way to the bar last night," Butch halts her in her tracks.

"What? I did? Jeez." Boomer leans on the counter with a hand on his hip and a frightened look in his eyes. "I need to stay away from liquor."

"I know what you can do!" Bubbles jumps up, excited. She points at the batter in the mixing bowl. "Birthday crepes!"

"Crepes are different from pancakes," Butch informs. Boomer remembers the only class in high school that his brother ever passed with a grade above a B was Home Ec. "They're thinner, because they don't use any baking soda–"

"Okay then, Mr. Food Expert – birthday pancakes! Make an extra one for Brick. It could also be a congratulatory pancake for his move-in with Blossom."

"A congratulatory-birthday pancake. He would probably hate that," Butch says after a moment's contemplation.

Then, he twirls around to the mixing bowl and grabs the whisk. "Let's do it."


	4. Chapter 4

It's about 3 in the afternoon when the three young adults realize how much time has passed. Bubbles is sprawled out on the couch while Butch and Boomer are lost in Pancake Land. Boomer had burnt at least four pancakes thus far and Butch was taking absolutely none of his crap, so the latter took it upon himself to put a jingling bell on Boomer's apron – yes, Bubbles had found another apron to lend to them. This one, though, was purple with pink floral designs. Butch said that Boomer looked lovely in it. The next moment, a wooden spoon was thrown into Butch's temple.

Bubbles is channel surfing on Boomer's TV when she hears the bell jingle from the kitchen. A thud, a shriek, and then a pregnant pause.

"Step away from the stove," comes Butch's low, menacing voice.

Half an hour passes without any more disturbances. The most Bubbles hears from the kitchen is a short-lived argument. Well, she wouldn't call it an argument as much as whiny bickering.

The boys emerge then, covered in flour and batter and dried up egg yolks, and Bubbles smiles without a second thought. Butch is almost surprised to see her there.

"I thought you'd have gone back to your place by now."

"I have no plans for the day. Making sure you two don't destroy the kitchen is the least I could do," she explains, stopping on a kid's network as she scrolls through the channel guide.

"Wanna see the pancakes?" Boomer asks her, untying his apron from his waist.

She beams. "Do you even have to ask?"

The blonds enter the kitchen together, snapping Butch out of his daze, as he'd been watching the puppet show on the kid network intently. He follows them, where Bubbles observes their three carefully made stacks of pancakes. At the top of each stack was each of the brothers' names in icing of their respective colors. Boomer's name was written rather sloppily. Bubbles supposes it was on purpose for whatever infringement he committed regarding the stove earlier.

In the end, Bubbles commended them for their hard work. Butch smugly took pride in the praise, putting emphasis on the fact that he did most of the heavy lifting. Boomer had reached for the wooden spoon to throw it at him again, but one dark, threatening look from his older brother stopped him dead in his tracks.

 

* * *

 

 

A sharp rapping on the front door harshly brings Brick out of his sleep. He groans softly, rubbing the ache out of his eyes. He soaks in his surroundings and sees his girlfriend at the other end of the couch, asleep, with her cheek on her palm and her elbow leaning on the armrest. Her textbook is wide open on her lap, and beside her is a notebook with two pens atop it and a highlighter threatening to jam itself between the cushions. His legs are tucked underneath himself, he realizes, and he throws them over the edge of the couch to get rid of the pins-and-needles vibrating through the limbs.

He reaches over and pokes the sleeping girl's cheek. She frowns.

"Blossom. Hey. Somebody's at the door. Hello. Wake up."

He flicks her temple.

"Ow!" Blossom whines, swatting away his hand. "There are other ways to wake me up!"

He points toward the front door with his eyes. "You've got a visitor, babe."

The knocking persists. Blossom hears it clearly now and she sets her textbook aside to stalk to the door and look through the peephole. It's being blocked by a finger. She rolls her eyes and asks through the door, "What are you doing here, Butch?"

"What? How did you–? Nevermind. Me and my comrades come in peace."

Blossom is not convinced. Not until she hears her sister's voice soon after his.

"Blossom, it's me. We come bearing gifts."

Slowly, reluctantly, she opens the door and peeks through to look at them.

Butch and Bubbles are giving her their own million dollar smiles, while Boomer stands awkwardly beside them. He seems to be mimicking their smile, only his is more embarrassed and forced, and maybe a little nervous. They have bags in their hands.

Blossom points to the bags. "And those are…?"

"That, my dear, is a surprise," Butch says, but his devilish smile has Blossom reconsidering her decision to open to the door.

Moments later, Brick is glowering at his brothers in Blossom's kitchen as they surround him. His gaze is dark and looming, and perhaps a bit indignant. Before him is a thick, fluffy stack of pancakes, not too tall and not too short. His name was written in shiny red icing, topped off by a heart above the "i" that he suspects Bubbles might have added.

Boomer grins beside him. "Do you like the heart that I drew?"

Brick decides not to make assumptions anymore.

Blossom dips a finger into the icing of the "B" to taste it. While Brick stares at her incredulously, she asks, "Did you guys plan this?"

Butch and the two blonds share a look. "Well," he starts, but is cut off by the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut.

Everyone's heads turn to the source of the noise and in saunters Buttercup, unzipping her jacket and tossing her dry umbrella somewhere on the floor. As she sits by the arch of the kitchen to pull off her boots, she realizes that all eyes are on her.

She frowns. "What's with all the stares?"

Blossom puts her hands on her hips. "My door was locked."

"Pfft, like no one knows where you keep your spare."

Blossom sputters, "You–!"

"You didn't say you were going to invite her over here," Boomer says to Butch.

Butch lovingly gazes at Buttercup. "It's not a party without the _love of my life_ –"

"It's not a party at all," Blossom interjects.

"Cut the crap," Buttercup says brusquely, glaring at him, "You and I are going to have a _long_ talk tonight."

As Butch grimaces, Blossom sees Bubbles moving in to explain the situation, but she raises her hand. "I don't want to know."

Meanwhile, Brick is inspecting and poking his stack of pancakes to test the firmness. It seems like they made the bottom half thicker than the top. His attention is brought back to his name at the very top of the stack. He moves his hand to prod at the icing. Bubbles quickly slaps his knuckles, scolding him for not waiting to eat with his brothers. Brick grumbles in response.

"Don't mess up the heart before you've even eaten it, dude," Boomer says to Brick, "Have some fucking etiquette – _Ack_!"

Brick had pulled him into a headlock and noogied his hair.

Later, as Brick is eating his batch of pancakes amid the soft chatter of the three sisters in the living room, he says to his brothers, "These are horrible," but makes no move to stop eating.

 

* * *

 

 

"It's been so long since we were all here together," Butch says, lathering a chunk of pancake in far too much syrup to be healthy. He had his plate on his lap and sat on the ground before the couch, much to the disapproval of Blossom. "You remember, don't you?" He points at Boomer. "We got so drunk that I puked in the toilet. And then you didn't have anywhere to do it, so you puked in the tub."

Boomer can feel Blossom's eyes burning into the back of his head. She hadn't known beforehand who'd vomited in the bathtub.

"Haha," he laughs stiffly. "Good times."

"That's the last time I'll ever throw a party in this apartment," Blossom says, and Buttercup snorts.

"It was supposed to be a good ol' 22nd birthday party for Robin. You should've expected at least a couple of drinks."

"I did! What I _didn't_ expect was you and Butch bringing a set of shot glasses and almost four bottles of tequila!"

"'Almost'?" Brick asks.

"I might've drank half of one of the bottles before driving here," Butch admits.

Blossom throws her hands up in the air. "Unbelievable. A felony."

"Where the hell is Robin these days?" Buttercup queries, stealing a piece of Butch's pancake off his plate with his own fork and ignoring his glare.

"She left during the summer to study in Citysville," Bubbles answers, and all eyes turn to her. She gives them a tiny smile. "We still talk every other day."

"Really?" Buttercup looks surprised. "Even after the both of you–"

"Yeah," Bubbles confirms quickly. The eyes are still on her, unsure. She rolls her eyes. "Seriously, there are no hard feelings between us!"

Butch and Brick exchange a knowing look.

"Well," Buttercup says, relaxing, "That's good, then, that you're still friends."

"You two had a beautiful relationship," Blossom says softly.

Bubbles shrugs. "I think it still is."

Boomer looks at her, really looks at her, and for the second time that year, he feels jealous.

 

* * *

 

 

Bubbles is washing dishes in her home that night at 1 in the morning.

She sets the radio, which is playing some summer pop song, at a low, respectable volume. She sighs, cleaning the counter with a damp rag. The counter doesn't really need cleaning. Maybe she just needs something to distract her.

She frowns, slams the button on the radio to turn it off, snatches her jacket from the hook and locks her front door behind her. She winces at the poor job she'd done trying to cover the hole in the door; a short plank of wood nailed over it from the inside. She pats it lightly, as though to check if it's sturdy enough, and makes her way to the elevator.

As she ambles through the dim lit and silent lobby, she finds Boomer at his mailbox. Except, he's not taking out any mail as much as he's slumped against the wall, stuffing his entire head into the slot.

Bubbles crinkles her brows in concern. "Um?"

He jerks in surprise, banging his head against the metal ceiling of the slot. " _Shit_ –!"

Bubbles panics. "H-Hey! Hey, calm down, get your head out! Are you stuck!?"

He pulls out of the slot with ease, waving frantically. "No! No, I'm fine, see! I was just, um…" He trails off, staring at his mailbox as though it would finish his sentence.

Bubbles blinks at him, her mouth shut in a tight line.

"Checking my mail," he finishes lamely, after what feels like an hour.

"Did you… Did you find any?"

"What?" He asks, confused.

"Any mail?"

"Oh! Uh," he looks at the mailbox again, "No. But I checked the inside just to make sure."

She crosses her arms bashfully. "Right."

He zips up his hoodie. "So… What business have you got being up in the middle of the night?"

"I'm," she starts, but her voice fades away, searching for the right words to say.

Deciding to fill the silence, Boomer gives his own answer. "I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither," she admits, laughing a little and looking at her feet.

"Yeah? What kept you up? Was it your college stuff?"

She takes too long to answer, and by now she figures there's no use in lying, so she just shakes her head.

"Wanna talk about it?"

At this, she looks up. She assesses the situation briefly; it's 1 in the morning, and here's Boomer, mellow-eyed and offering a listening ear, and she says to herself, why not?

That's how she finds herself sitting on the bench of the second floor's small balcony, beside him, and willing to open up. He's perched atop the railing right across from the bench, occasionally turning around to look at how far up they are.

So she starts off without wasting time, babbling, "If you think this is about me being all heartbroken over what happened between me and Robin, I can assure you it's not! It's not anymore!"

"Hm," he hums, "I wouldn't blame you. That was pretty brutal."

She blushes in embarrassment. "I guess it was, but it happened months ago, okay? We moved on, _I_ moved on, and we're still such good friends, and I'm actually really happy about that. She's doing really well in Citysville, you know! She hasn't got one of those dirty, musty apartments like the one Professor had when we moved to Citysville this one time when we were kids. She shows me decor that she thinks of adding to her home and these pretty colors she wants to paint her walls and–"

"Do you still love her?"

"Of course I do," Bubbles says, not a single beat missed. "What kind of question is that?"

Boomer shakes his head, "I don't mean friend or family love. I mean, are you still _in love_ with her?"

"... No, I'm not," she says. She realizes that though she feels a bit nervous relaying this information to him, her voice has not wavered. She answers wholly and honestly, "I was in love with her once, but it didn't work out between us and… I think that's okay. Love like that doesn't always stay, you know."

Boomer's eyebrows knit together. "Love like that…?"

"First love," she specifies. "The first person you love is rarely the last."

"You're talking so adultish," he complains, leaning back to look straight up at the sky.

She giggles. "Sorry! Blossom said that to me when I was still sad about it."

The stars above are a bit faded, but there's still a faint twinkle to them. Boomer focuses his eyes on one of them. He admires that; the ability this girl has to keep her loved ones close through thick and thin, no matter what they go through, no matter the complication or the difficulty. So often do people let such small things come between them when they still have so much love left to give.

He feels his stomach drop when he figures out what to say.

"The girl I almost slept with," he finally says, after letting a silence float over them for a minute, "It was her."

She doesn't respond immediately, but he hears her move. When he looks back down at her, she has a hand slapped over her mouth and her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. She removes the hand and absolutely guffaws. "I – Oh, my god – Are you – Are you serious!?" She's nearly gasping.

Like an angel came and graced him, he feels a weight lifted off his shoulder almost instantly. _Thank fucking goodness_ , he thinks.

"So she was in Townsville a few days ago then? Why would she want to sleep with you?"

He glares at her, offended.

Another giggle slips out of her mouth, and she says, "Not that you're not a dashing young man, but Robin only swings one way."

He ignores the offhanded compliment, and the sloshy stomach feeling. "All I know is that we were all drunk out of our fucking minds."

"So that's why _you_ were up?"

Boomer's cheeks redden. "I mean, yeah, you'd feel weird about almost sleeping with your friend's ex-girlfriend, wouldn't you?"

Bubbles smiles cheekily. "Friend? I'm your friend?"

"More than that," he says, and Bubbles almost feels her heart stop. But then he gives her a dorky grin and says, "Frienemy – _Agh_!"

She shoves him off the railing. He lands on the pavement below with a dull thud.

"I know we have Chemical X and whatever, but go a little easier on my soul, please."

She snorts, rolling her eyes. "I did worse to you when we were kids! Toughen up!"

"I'm still sensitive from all the alcohol!"

"That was two days ago."

"Still." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it just me or is blossom the most beautiful person in the world who deserves a lot of happiness
> 
> and robin is gay!! i love her!!!


	5. Chapter 5

It’s Christmas Day when Boomer finally admits that Bubbles is his friend. He doesn’t add the finer details.

They are in the midst of a party on Christmas Eve at Blossom’s apartment before that happens, though (Blossom had originally refused, but Buttercup’s constant badgering had pushed her to to her wit’s end and she caved at last. “This is the _last_ party,” Blossom warned, and Buttercup merely waved her off.)

There’s upbeat music blasting from the living room and there are people conversing and laughing. Some mistletoes are hung up above door entrances or archs. Butch had taken a couple of opportunities to drag Buttercup under them, only stopping when she yanked the last mistletoe he pulled her under and shoved it into his pants.

He shrieked, “That’s so _dirty_ –”

She walked away.

Robin throws her head back laughing at something Boomer says. She’d cut her hair shorter and Bubbles can’t help but notice, there’s something different about her.

“You’re almost glowing,” Bubbles tells her. The three of them are seated at one of the small dining tables a little ways from the sparkling Christmas tree.

Robin visibly blushes, so much so that Boomer pretends not to notice to save her the embarrassment.

Bubbles doesn’t bother pretending. “Oh my goodness!” she says, grinning and touching her own cheeks. “Don’t tell me, have you met someone?”

Robin sighs dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “Her name is Julie. She went to school with us. So technically, I’ve already met her.”

At this, Boomer seems alarmed, and Bubbles voices his thoughts. “Hold on, hold on–Julie Smith or Julie Bean?”

“Bean! What the hell, Bubbles, after all the shit this city’s been through you think I’d go for an ex-con like Smith?” Robin jokes, taking a sip of her soda. “Can’t believe I came back to Townsville for Christmas break just to have you doubt me.”

Bubbles laughs, so truly and genuinely, and Robin is glad to be in her company again.

“Ex-cons aren’t _that_ bad, in my opinion,” Boomer mumbles as he chews his food.

“Sorry Boomer,” Robin says, smiling fondly, “You’re not terrible, but you’re not excellent either. You’re an in-betweener. It’s okay, kid.”

As Boomer’s arguing that a few months of age difference doesn’t make him a kid, Robin suddenly turns and asks Bubbles, “Could you grab us a couple more drinks, and maybe a shot or two?”

“At least _one_ of us can’t get drunk tonight,” Bubbles says, sighing in defeat. “So I’ll be the designated driver.”

Boomer grins, “Way to take one for the team!”

Bubbles throws an offhanded “yeah, yeah” over her shoulder as she leaves to retrieve their beverages.

As soon as she’s out of hearing range, Robin fixes her eyes on Boomer. “What is going on?”

Boomer almost shrinks back. “What do you–”

“You two were never so comfortable around each other! Civil, yes, tolerable of each other, I guess, but I don’t think I ever remember seeing you and Bubbles being all buddy-buddy.”

She doesn’t look exactly angry, so that’s a good sign. He relaxes.

“Are you two dating?”

He tenses up immediately, “ _No_ –”

She smirks. “The look on your face alone tells me you at least _want_ to.”

“Robin, I never hated you before, but I’m sure I do now.”

Robin giggles, but something in it is so distinctly friendly, understanding. “I don’t blame you. I was in your shoes before, young man. Bubbles makes you love her without even trying to, you know.”

Boomer is red from head to toe. He fidgets with his collar. “I wouldn’t exactly–call it love–”

Robin nods, “Maybe not, but it’s the start of something.” She taps her chin, smiling. “You two together are a little interesting, given how your brothers and her sisters have started dating a while ago. You’re like late bloomers or something. It’s cute.”

“Bubbles!” he shouts, and Robin turns to look over her shoulder where Bubbles is on her way back to the table with Brick in tow. “Bubbles! Is! Back!” He’s blushing so hard Robin thinks he might actually burst.

“Woah,” Bubbles says as she notices the color all over his face, putting down some of the drinks on the table while Brick sets down the rest of them. “Did you drink something? Don’t tell me Robin made you take a shot while I was gone so that I wouldn’t stop you!”

“Hey!”

“For your information, I would’ve taken a shot on my own merit because I can do whatever I want,” Boomer declares, his embarrassment long forgotten.

“Your tolerance is barely stable,” Brick says, raising at eyebrow at his brother.

Robin crosses her arms, still smirking as Boomer’s blush comes back at maximum speed.

Brick isn’t convinced, but he walks away, sarcastically warning, “Don’t get too crazy now, kids.”

“Alright!” Boomer says excitedly, taking his shot glass into his hand with his chaser in the other. “Let’s get drunk out of our minds in the name of Santa Claus!”

Robin is now hyped, and clinks her glass with his, saying, “Yeah!”

Bubbles grabs each of their wrists and lowers them down slightly, levelling their gazes to her own. She smiles sweetly. “Don’t cross the line, okay?”

They both nod, and simultaneously promise, “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

They crossed the line.

Boomer’s holding back Robin’s hair as she vomits into the toilet. Inside his mind, he’s planning out the epitaph for his tombstone for when Bubbles murders him.

Butch bursts into the bathroom just then, clutching his stomach and looking pale and weary. His eyes sweep over the occupied toilet, then to the bathtub. He inhales and closes his eyes, making his decision, and solemnly says, “Sorry Blossom.”

 

* * *

 

 

Boomer rides uncomfortably in shotgun as Bubbles drives Robin’s car, staring straight ahead. Robin lies on her side in the backseat, snoring her worries away.

Boomer swallows, thinking of something to say. “I’m–”

He cuts himself off when Bubbles looks at him right in the eye and then looks back onto the road.

“I’m deciding to forgive you,” Bubbles says. She frowns. “I didn’t want to be the only sober person going home tonight. Makes me feel left out.”

“You’ve got plenty of opportunities to get drunk,” he supplies, hoping it’ll lift her spirits.

She smiles, “Getting drunk isn’t really my thing.”

Boomer hesitates, almost scowling at his indignance. “So, we’re cool then?”

“Of course we’re cool! What, you think I’d go on a rampage or something?”

“You are scary when you're mad.”

“I'm glad you think so.”

He relaxes into his seat, the fleeting waves of nausea bringing him back to that night a little over two months prior. Oh, memories. Robin releases an obnoxious snore that startles him out of his thoughts, and Bubbles chokes on her laughter.

 

* * *

 

 

“Keep your arm there–Under her knees. Keep them–Don't forget to support her head! Oh, God, she's totally limp!” Bubbles whisper-screams.

“That's what a hangover does to you, I guess,” Boomer whispers back. “Keep your arms steady, too!”

Boomer almost trips over his feet as he and Bubbles carry Robin to the guest bedroom.

“Can't believe you let me sleep on the couch when this was here the whole time,” Boomer grumbles, holding Robin while Bubbles opens the bedroom door.

Bubbles snickers. “After the whole break and entering situation I didn't really consider you a _guest_.”

Bubbles helps Boomer set Robin gently down on the bed, and she takes care to pull out the bedsheets and drape them over Robin as the girl curls into herself.

Boomer’s eyes drift to the digital clock, where the time reads 12:42 A.M.

“Woah!” His eyes widen, and he stares at Bubbles in shock. “It's Christmas Day! Man, now I wish Robin wasn't asleep.”

“Well, we can't wake her,” Bubbles says, keeping her voice light.

Boomer adopts a determined look. “Alright, then, let's do this. You and me. To the Christmas tree we go!”

“ _Be quiet_!”

Luckily, Robin had not woken up, and the two blondes found themselves sitting at the foot of Bubbles’ small white Christmas tree. The ornaments were unsurprisingly predominantly blue, with some red and yellow thrown in every now and then in the form of tiny ribbons and hollow bulbs and candy canes. At the head of the tree sat a blue star. Beneath the tree, three gifts.

“After everything, I am glad you and Robin became such good friends,” Bubbles says as they both stare at the tree.

“We were already friends,” Boomer points out. “But I think you might’ve solidified that friendship? I don't know. I just hope she likes my present.” He had gotten Robin a stuffed elephant and some new paintbrushes.

“I'm sure she will. I mean, you put effort into it and that's what counts.”

“Right.”

“At least you guys followed through! I was scared that when I suggested doing a mini Secret Santa between the three of us that you'd both shoot me down immediately.”

“I was going to,” Boomer admits, “But then I remembered that I'd get a gift, too! So that was kind of exciting. What about your sisters?”

“Well, between the Professor, my sisters, and I, we do our own Secret Santa every year. It's become like a family tradition. I thought it'd be fun to do it with you guys, too.”

Boomer allows himself to smile. The clock’s large hand shifts from its perch on the wall. The time reads 1:18 A.M.

“Alright!” Bubbles says, grinning and grabbing the two presents marked for herself and for Boomer. “Let's get this party started. I’ll open mine first.”

He’s momentarily reminded that his gift is from Bubbles. He tries not to think about it at the moment.

She reaches into the bag, littered with blue tissue paper and drawn in cute little snowmen, and she pulls out a Christmas card and a pair of light brown slippers. She opens the Christmas card, laughing at Robin’s message relaying the first few years of their friendship and a wish for more to come.

Bubbles runs her fingers along the fluff of the inside of the slippers, sighing happily. “Feel it! It's so soft,” she says vibrantly, thrusting the slippers to Boomer.

As he feels the fluff, he pouts, complaining, “What the fuck, _I_ want these!”

“Why don't you check your present and see if you want it more than what I got for you, then,” she challenges, nudging the wrapped gift in his hand.

He observes the gift, adorned in midnight blue wrapping paper with splatterings of snowflakes every which way. He notices that she had taken an actual white ribbon to tie around the gift box.

She crosses her legs. He can feel an amicable aura emanating off of her. “You shouldn’t be scared. I’m a superb gift-giver.”

He doesn’t doubt it, but he can still feel his heart thumping a bit too quickly. He grabs the ribbon, pulls, and watches as the thin fabric unravels and softly falls to the ground. He halts for a moment, and nearly chokes on his breath when Bubbles reaches out to grab his hand and guide it to the corner of the lid. The box is fairly flat, so when he peels off the lid to reveal a book, he’s not all that surprised. But he is a little disappointed.

“A book,” he says flatly. Bubbles snorts. “This is totally nice and all, but… reading isn’t exactly my strong point. I mean, you were there in ninth grade–”

“Yes, of course, I know that,” she assures him.

He’s still confused. Then, at a revelation, he frowns. “If this is like some specialized challenging reading thing, I’ll fight you.”

“It’s an _album_ ,” she finally says, her smile broad. She motions her hand to it. “You should, like, flip through it, you know.”

He processes the information and looks down at it. After he gingerly pulls the album out of the box and onto the floor between them, he opens up to the first page.

A picture of him and his brothers, age 8, running out of a chicken spot that they’d just robbed. Butch has a drumstick in his mouth and is hauling about five bags of fries and burgers as he charges away. Brick is hovering above the sidewalk a couple feet away, seemingly yelling something behind his shoulder. A young Boomer follows behind them, laughing so hard there are tears at the corners of his eyes.

He looks at the picture in awe. “Where did you…” He blinks out of his stupor. “Where did you get this?”

Bubbles holds a confident smirk, cheeks flushing with pride. “You have a lot of pictures of you and your brothers just lying around in your bedroom, you know. However, for this picture specifically, I had to go into some archives in the library. Didn’t take too long to find it.”

“Yeah… This is the youngest we’d ever been caught on camera together.”

After another silent moment of studying the photo, he turns the page. On the left is a picture of a 12 year old Butch giving a toothy grin to the camera, his arms in the air with two rock-n-roll hand signs. The photo is set in the courtyard of a middle school. Off to the side is a girl with short hair, grimacing at him, half of her body cut from the shot.

Boomer points to her immediately. “ _Is that Buttercup_? Oh my God.”

Bubbles outright guffaws, nodding her head.

They spend the next half hour looking through the album, at the pictures of each brother in varying sizes, various dates and places, different ages. Boomer is elated to have all these memories in one place, where he could look at them whenever he pleased. He tells himself to remember to show his brothers the album, see how they react to their younger selves. They'd never taken many pictures of themselves until high school.

It’s strange, Boomer thinks, seeing a part of himself as a child and feeling like he's a completely different person, yet not.

“This is sappy as fuck,” Boomer decides to say after flipping past the last page of pictures. The second half of the album is empty, and he feels a twinge of excitement at having the chance to add more.

“You're welcome,” Bubbles says kindly, genuinely. She knows what he means to say.

Something inside his chest feels so warm and giddy. _She did this for me_. “I’ve never had a friend get me a gift for Christmas or anything. Is it always this cheesy?”

Bubbles eyes almost twinkle and she smirks right in his face. “Friend? I'm your _friend_?”

His heart nearly leaps out of his chest and kicks his own ass. “Shut up,” he says quickly, and then, “You are, to me.”

She gasps, delighted. “I love making friends!” she squeals.

At that moment she’s smiling so hard her eyes are crinkled, and her eyelashes spread like wings, or something similar, and her cheeks are shining and red, and he can't help but let the dam burst, she's so beautiful, she's always been so beautiful, the water has crashed out–

He let's his hand drop the page it was holding onto to trace it along her jaw, pull her in, and as her smile fades into a look of slack surprise, he presses his lips to hers, not soft, but not hard.

She doesn't move at all after a few moments, so he pulls back, embarrassed. His hand remains on the soft column of her neck, lingering.

She opens her eyes, slowly, and it makes his heart race realizing that she had closed them to relish the feeling as he had kissed her.

“You can just, like, forget I did that,” he says bluntly, betraying the look of humiliation on his face. “I’m probably still drunk, anyway.”

“You're not drunk,” she says, and he’s startled at the change in her tone. Her eyes sweep over him quickly. He feels like he might die. “I know what you look like when you're drunk. The way you talk and all. You're sober,” she declares.

He gulps. “Are you going to beat me up? If so, can you do it quickly.”

She shakes her head, brief but fast. “Is there…” Her voice is almost shy, hesitant. But she gathers all the confidence she can and she asks him, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Well, yeah, but you're probably going to kick my ass, so–”

That makes her facade crack, and she laughs. The mood damn near automatically lightens up and some tension is already seeping away.

“I won't,” she promises.

“Then… okay,” he says. He puts on his best Brave Face and looks her square in the eyes. Her really, really pretty blue eyes–

“Oh, God,” he says, covering his face and turning away. “I can't fucking do this.”

“Come on!” she encourages. She's getting a little impatient. “I believe in you!”

He blushes fiercely, and then steels himself once more, removing his hands and setting them at his sides. He feels somewhat reassured when he can see her blushing, too. “Can you just do me one favor?” he requests.

Her eyebrows furrow, but she complies and asks him what he wants.

“Say it again.”

She's never been more confused in her life. She stares and stares, but cannot come up with anything significant she had said to him recently. “What do I say?”

He looks pained for a second and continues on, embarrassed even further, “What you said… that night. I broke in, drunk.” He looks up at her. “You thought I was asleep.”

There's the sound of a record-scratch somewhere in the distance. The sound of glass cracking. A halt in the fabric of space and time. Bubbles wants to fly into the sun and never come back.

“You–” Her voice cracks. Her eyes are wide and unbelieving. “You _knew_ about that!? _This whole time_!?”

Boomer looks off to the side. “... Yeah.”

“Why didn't you _say_ anything!? Oh my God.” She brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, hiding her face.

“I don't know?” he says, unsure. He sighs. “I felt like I dreamt it up or something. Or maybe that you just meant it in a friendly way. I don't know!” He groans, frustrated. “I thought that if I brought it up, you wouldn't even know what the hell I was talking about, and it would be awkward, and you would reject me, and then I would live out the rest of my days as Boomer, The Huge Ass Fucking Loser–”

“Okay, stop.” She holds up a hand to silence him, amused and slightly shocked. “I said it because I meant it.”

Boomer stops talking, stops thinking altogether.

She is captivating in the artificial blue and white lights of the Christmas tree when she says, “I _really_ like you.”

The air runs the fuck out of his lungs just then, and he's so–How does he breathe? What does he do now? So he responds before he loses his nerve, “I like you, too.”

He can feel her hands cupping his cheeks, and then her mouth is hovering over his. His breath is truly, without a doubt, completely gone.

She kisses him, moving closer so their knees slot together. He just about burns to death at the physical contact and he reminds himself this isn't the first time he's ever kissed anyone, but it's the first time he's kissed the girl he'd been pining for since he was fourteen, and the feelings of a premature crush come rushing back and he nearly can't believe what's happening.

But he doesn't care about that anymore. He cares about the shape of her lips against his, her thumb brushing his cheek, the fingers grazing across his neck, the warmth of her waist under his hand, everything happening now, in this moment–He can believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm suffering but it's ok because bubbles is the light of my life


End file.
